Chapter Fifteen
Christine contentedly surveyed her husband winning a concentrated game of chess. Neither man had spoken since their game had begun. Proudly, she looked down at her sewing quietly confident of Erik's impending victory. She felt the ship move slightly reminding her that it was their last night at sea.
Richard's eyes pierced the board trying to hide his fear that he was cornered. His adversary was extraordinarily gifted in games of strategy. Sitting back, he refused to admit defeat.
Catching Erik's eye momentarily, Christine smiled at his prowess and he discreetly winked at her.
The trip had been wonderful thus far. Christine contemplated her new husband. Erik had altered since their marriage. She had watched in wonder as he unconsciously bloomed under the security of their love. He appeared no longer reticent about appearing in public with his mask. He seemed almost unconcerned about the glances made their way. Although he still preferred to leave their cabin only at night, Erik was totally engrossed in Christine; seeming to care less about the curious side looks to his mask. He would continue on as though there were nothing amiss.
And it was this blessed gift of their love that she treasured most.
Erik met Richard recently one afternoon in the lounge while Christine had napped. He had gone to have a brandy and they had been the only two gentlemen in the lounge. When Richard broke the silence with a political comment about the current French government to which Erik disagreed, it initiated a discussion that had ensued for two hours. After searching the ship over, Christine timidly asked a steward to please check if her husband was in the men's lounge. The bored steward nodded, wondering just how many times he'd been approached by a concerned wife with that particular request. Having no difficulty identifying her husband after her brief description, the steward politely interrupted their heated debate. Erik immediately went to Christine's side apologizing profusely. Richard had followed him and was taken aback by the young wife's beauty. Erik made the introductions after which Richard discreetly excused himself. Respectful of their differences, they'd forged a quick acquaintance. Richard thought little of Erik's mask as there were many men who had returned from war with scarred features.
In the late afternoon, when Richard saw Erik strolling the deck with Christine, he had not wanted to intrude on their privacy. He knew instinctively they were on their wedding trip by their pure absorption in each other. Eventually that evening after supper, Richard begged Christine's indulgence in allowing her husband to engage him in a game of chess. Granting her permission so sweetly, Richard had bemoaned the fact that he was still a bachelor. As they made their way to the board, he complimented Erik on his wife's beauty and poise.
Now confessing defeat at last, Richard held up his hands. "Truly, I do not know how you accomplish it, Erik. It perplexes me."
"It is enjoyable to have a worthy adversary." Erik gracefully stood and gazed at Christine. Immediately understanding the glint in his eyes, she asked Erik if he would see her to their cabin. Bowing in farewell, they left Richard to puzzle over which move had left him no retreat.
The frigid sea air hit them as they reached the deck. Erik breathed deeply of the fresh scent of the ocean. "My love, I do not believe I've ever been more content in my entire life."
Sincerely beholden to God for Erik's happiness, Christine squeezed his arm in response.
Christine had never been to Florence. She found she adored the romance of Italy, and to Erik's amusement, she insisted upon seeing everything. Her reverent delight at the Duomo, the Baptistery and the Companile pleased him greatly for they had always been some of his favorite structures. It was Erik's decided opinion that it was without a doubt Brunelleschi's best work and no other architect had been able to match his talent. Christine had stopped walking to earnestly reply, "That is only because you are not Italian, Erik." He had laughed at her sincerity but secretly he prized her admiration.
They enjoyed the Donatello bronzes, the Botticelli smiles, and all the other treasures offered in the historic city. One evening, however, they lay abed after making love watching the spring breeze blow the sheer curtains from entrance of their balcony. Erik sat up against the headboard holding her, while carelessly winding one of her curls around his finger. Christine was apprehensive at bringing up a difficult subject.
Sporadically, one of his dark, brooding moods had clutched him. At such times, she let him retreat into writing or composing from which he would emerge exhausted but cleansed of his black introspection. She knew that his genius must be assuaged by creative expression. Their time in Italy had been especially ideal and she hesitated to trouble Erik's peace with her thoughts. She was only slightly astonished when he said softly, "My sweet, you are going to have to tell me eventually. You may as well do so now."
Lifting her head to look at him, she asked, "Why, Erik, how did you know what I was thinking?"
He smiled lazily. "You are my wife, Christine. We cannot share so much together without a profound bond. I could tell something has been worrying you for days now." God, he loved this complete relaxation he felt after loving her. What an incredible feeling.
She set her chin upon his lean belly and sighed. "I'm not worried exactly but I have to speak with you about something...sensitive."
Erik remained silent, still curling her hair in his hand and waited for her to continue.
In a rush, she blurted, "Erik, I want to go to Paris."
"Paris!?" his voice rose alarmingly and he sat straight up. "Christine, why would you want to return there?"
Dismayed at the response she had expected, Christine put her hand on his cheek. "Love, please don't be so upset."
"Upset? I'm beyond upset, my dear. You would have us return there to that place of pain?" he spat angrily as he sat on the edge of the bed and made to get up.
Reaching over, Christine leaned against his back and wrapped her arms lightly around his neck. "Please don't leave, Erik. I beg you listen to what I have to say before you lose your temper. Will you?"
She breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded tautly.
Speaking gently into his ear, Christine told him of her plan. "Darling, I think we should go back for a brief visit. Of course, we would not see anyone there nor would we go about in the daytime." Kissing his neck tenderly, she went on, "There are a great many ghosts to be laid to rest there, Erik. We should see to the past before we embrace our future. I am only suggesting a brief nighttime visit to the Opera using the old Rue Scribe entrance. We ought to return there one more time. And this time, leave together."
Finished, Christine hugged him and kissed his scarred cheek. She had made her case and now she would let him decide. This was something she felt strongly about, however, and she hoped he would see her reasoning. Laying down on the bed again, she quietly awaited his judgment.
Erik sat poker straight, tense and rigid. The very thought of going back to that God-forsaken place quaked him. His hands were in fists and he consciously relaxed them. He had nearly died when she left him there so many years ago. Why would she wish to return there now that they were so happy? Standing, he walked out toward the balcony to brood unaware that Christine had begun to weep noiselessly.
Sun streamed through the open door as birds heralded a beautiful, Italian spring morning. Christine stretched while at the same time reaching for Erik. She came awake when she realized her hand met emptiness on his side of the bed. "Erik?"
Sitting up abruptly holding the sheet to cover her, she raised her voice louder, "Erik, are you there?"
Concerned now, she left their bed to walk to the balcony wrapping the sheet around her to cover herself. He was not here. Christine attempted to reassure herself that he had merely gone downstairs to get their breakfast or for a walk, but fear crept its cold fingers around her heart.
Chastising herself for mentioning Paris in the first place, she went back to their bed. Gathering Erik's pillow in her arms, she hugged it closely. She'd not been away from his side practically since they were wed. For him to leave with no explanation showed the extent of his offense. Tears slipped little by little down her cheeks as she grasped that she had once again hurt him. Would she never stop grieving him?
Turning at a light noise on the balcony, she saw Erik enter like a majestic, dark shadow. She immediately sat up and began to apologize. He walked over to her and placed his finger over her lips. Kneeling down, he wiped her tears away and kissed her affectionately. "You are right, my Angel. We'll go to Paris one more time."
Christine contentedly surveyed her husband winning a concentrated game of chess. Neither man had spoken since their game had begun. Proudly, she looked down at her sewing quietly confident of Erik's impending victory. She felt the ship move slightly reminding her that it was their last night at sea.
Richard's eyes pierced the board trying to hide his fear that he was cornered. His adversary was extraordinarily gifted in games of strategy. Sitting back, he refused to admit defeat.
Catching Erik's eye momentarily, Christine smiled at his prowess and he discreetly winked at her.
The trip had been wonderful thus far. Christine contemplated her new husband. Erik had altered since their marriage. She had watched in wonder as he unconsciously bloomed under the security of their love. He appeared no longer reticent about appearing in public with his mask. He seemed almost unconcerned about the glances made their way. Although he still preferred to leave their cabin only at night, Erik was totally engrossed in Christine; seeming to care less about the curious side looks to his mask. He would continue on as though there were nothing amiss.
And it was this blessed gift of their love that she treasured most.
Erik met Richard recently one afternoon in the lounge while Christine had napped. He had gone to have a brandy and they had been the only two gentlemen in the lounge. When Richard broke the silence with a political comment about the current French government to which Erik disagreed, it initiated a discussion that had ensued for two hours. After searching the ship over, Christine timidly asked a steward to please check if her husband was in the men's lounge. The bored steward nodded, wondering just how many times he'd been approached by a concerned wife with that particular request. Having no difficulty identifying her husband after her brief description, the steward politely interrupted their heated debate. Erik immediately went to Christine's side apologizing profusely. Richard had followed him and was taken aback by the young wife's beauty. Erik made the introductions after which Richard discreetly excused himself. Respectful of their differences, they'd forged a quick acquaintance. Richard thought little of Erik's mask as there were many men who had returned from war with scarred features.
In the late afternoon, when Richard saw Erik strolling the deck with Christine, he had not wanted to intrude on their privacy. He knew instinctively they were on their wedding trip by their pure absorption in each other. Eventually that evening after supper, Richard begged Christine's indulgence in allowing her husband to engage him in a game of chess. Granting her permission so sweetly, Richard had bemoaned the fact that he was still a bachelor. As they made their way to the board, he complimented Erik on his wife's beauty and poise.
Now confessing defeat at last, Richard held up his hands. "Truly, I do not know how you accomplish it, Erik. It perplexes me."
"It is enjoyable to have a worthy adversary." Erik gracefully stood and gazed at Christine. Immediately understanding the glint in his eyes, she asked Erik if he would see her to their cabin. Bowing in farewell, they left Richard to puzzle over which move had left him no retreat.
The frigid sea air hit them as they reached the deck. Erik breathed deeply of the fresh scent of the ocean. "My love, I do not believe I've ever been more content in my entire life."
Sincerely beholden to God for Erik's happiness, Christine squeezed his arm in response.
Christine had never been to Florence. She found she adored the romance of Italy, and to Erik's amusement, she insisted upon seeing everything. Her reverent delight at the Duomo, the Baptistery and the Companile pleased him greatly for they had always been some of his favorite structures. It was Erik's decided opinion that it was without a doubt Brunelleschi's best work and no other architect had been able to match his talent. Christine had stopped walking to earnestly reply, "That is only because you are not Italian, Erik." He had laughed at her sincerity but secretly he prized her admiration.
They enjoyed the Donatello bronzes, the Botticelli smiles, and all the other treasures offered in the historic city. One evening, however, they lay abed after making love watching the spring breeze blow the sheer curtains from entrance of their balcony. Erik sat up against the headboard holding her, while carelessly winding one of her curls around his finger. Christine was apprehensive at bringing up a difficult subject.
Sporadically, one of his dark, brooding moods had clutched him. At such times, she let him retreat into writing or composing from which he would emerge exhausted but cleansed of his black introspection. She knew that his genius must be assuaged by creative expression. Their time in Italy had been especially ideal and she hesitated to trouble Erik's peace with her thoughts. She was only slightly astonished when he said softly, "My sweet, you are going to have to tell me eventually. You may as well do so now."
Lifting her head to look at him, she asked, "Why, Erik, how did you know what I was thinking?"
He smiled lazily. "You are my wife, Christine. We cannot share so much together without a profound bond. I could tell something has been worrying you for days now." God, he loved this complete relaxation he felt after loving her. What an incredible feeling.
She set her chin upon his lean belly and sighed. "I'm not worried exactly but I have to speak with you about something...sensitive."
Erik remained silent, still curling her hair in his hand and waited for her to continue.
In a rush, she blurted, "Erik, I want to go to Paris."
"Paris!?" his voice rose alarmingly and he sat straight up. "Christine, why would you want to return there?"
Dismayed at the response she had expected, Christine put her hand on his cheek. "Love, please don't be so upset."
"Upset? I'm beyond upset, my dear. You would have us return there to that place of pain?" he spat angrily as he sat on the edge of the bed and made to get up.
Reaching over, Christine leaned against his back and wrapped her arms lightly around his neck. "Please don't leave, Erik. I beg you listen to what I have to say before you lose your temper. Will you?"
She breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded tautly.
Speaking gently into his ear, Christine told him of her plan. "Darling, I think we should go back for a brief visit. Of course, we would not see anyone there nor would we go about in the daytime." Kissing his neck tenderly, she went on, "There are a great many ghosts to be laid to rest there, Erik. We should see to the past before we embrace our future. I am only suggesting a brief nighttime visit to the Opera using the old Rue Scribe entrance. We ought to return there one more time. And this time, leave together."
Finished, Christine hugged him and kissed his scarred cheek. She had made her case and now she would let him decide. This was something she felt strongly about, however, and she hoped he would see her reasoning. Laying down on the bed again, she quietly awaited his judgment.
Erik sat poker straight, tense and rigid. The very thought of going back to that God-forsaken place quaked him. His hands were in fists and he consciously relaxed them. He had nearly died when she left him there so many years ago. Why would she wish to return there now that they were so happy? Standing, he walked out toward the balcony to brood unaware that Christine had begun to weep noiselessly.
Sun streamed through the open door as birds heralded a beautiful, Italian spring morning. Christine stretched while at the same time reaching for Erik. She came awake when she realized her hand met emptiness on his side of the bed. "Erik?"
Sitting up abruptly holding the sheet to cover her, she raised her voice louder, "Erik, are you there?"
Concerned now, she left their bed to walk to the balcony wrapping the sheet around her to cover herself. He was not here. Christine attempted to reassure herself that he had merely gone downstairs to get their breakfast or for a walk, but fear crept its cold fingers around her heart.
Chastising herself for mentioning Paris in the first place, she went back to their bed. Gathering Erik's pillow in her arms, she hugged it closely. She'd not been away from his side practically since they were wed. For him to leave with no explanation showed the extent of his offense. Tears slipped little by little down her cheeks as she grasped that she had once again hurt him. Would she never stop grieving him?
Turning at a light noise on the balcony, she saw Erik enter like a majestic, dark shadow. She immediately sat up and began to apologize. He walked over to her and placed his finger over her lips. Kneeling down, he wiped her tears away and kissed her affectionately. "You are right, my Angel. We'll go to Paris one more time."